On the way home on the trainAfter fighting my way pass the train doors, I promptly found myself a seat and because of my luck, I found one next to a window. As I was about to sit down, I saw something orange sticking out against the grey backdrop of the ground. Upon closer inspection, it turns out the orange thing was the plastic thing you find that protects the sharp needle of syringes, except in this case, the syringe was lying free and unprotected next to its defence. Upon further inspection, there was a small square sheet of discarded tin foil lying next to it. These things always happen to me…..I was about to sit on top of a discarded syringe that some junkie got high on. Faced with this conflict, I started to become extremely angry, so much so that I was contemplating picking up the syringe and jabbing it into the next unsavoury person that came by. But morality kicked in: I took one final look and moved onto the next carriage. But the anger didn’t subside. There are so many problems in the world and now, those problems are slowly emigrating onto the public transport system. First it was the decaying facilities; then the homeless sleeping on the seats; then fare increase; then trains being delayed because of suicide; then cults holding meetings/rituals/devil worshipping sessions; then ugly people busking in the carriages; then ticket inspectors and now, junkies shooting up that once belonged to the domain of side streets, alleys and stupid political forays called shooting galleries.
After that horrible discovery, my social responsibility index has done a NASDAQ. So the next time a junkie ask you if you have a spare dollar or a thousand, give them as much as you can afford. This will ensure that you are helping them in buying their next hit and hopefully, they will overdose and make the world a better place. Better yet, next time someone offers you a joint at a party, stab them in the eye with it. It’ll help that person avoid looking at ugly accused drug smugglers on television. Or the next time an under aged asks you to buy some liquor, go into the supermarket and get that cheap 60% alcohol vodka drink so that they’ll overdose and spend their hangover in the hospital or the morgue. Or better yet, send the stupid people of the nation into other countries as drug couriers, dobbing them into the local police and sleep at night knowing that moral decency has prevailed as the stupid people end up on death row rather than on the dole queue or on trying to find a vein on the train as it is sitting idle waiting for a drunk to be scrapped off the tracks.
On the way to a quiet evening at OrbitAddendum: *with an American accent* "Excuse me, do you know where the closest hot spot is?"
To which I gave him a blank stare that lasted for 5 minutes. I initially thought he was after a naughtly place to go (why he would ask me I wouldn't know).
But he then said: "I need to check my email."
If it weren't for my countless hours sitting in Starbucks in Paris and watching people surf the internet, I wouldn't have realised that Starbucks might have a hot spot; after all, their coffee is hot.
I replied: "I don't know. Try Starbucks"
Why do people ask me the weirdest questions.
on the way to lunch at Town Hall StationThrough out my life, I get asked all sorts of questions. Some questions are annoying, some are confusing and some are down right rude and out of place. But nonetheless, I try to answer all questions with a degree of truth and sincerity, because I believe that living in a world without honesty is akin to living in somewhere like Amsterdam or Vegas - where morality is a second class citizen.
But what sort of questions do people ask me? Well, the following is a selection I encounter with high incidence: -
How are you?
How old are you?
Where are you from?
Did your parents name you after the country you were born in?
Where do you live?
What do you do for a living?
If you had to marry for love or money, which would you choose?
Who is hotter, Paris or Nicky?
Would you sell yourself for money?
Is that ______ real?
How could you spend so much money?
How do you afford it?
Do you really think it is worth that much?
Why do you like it so much?
How come you have so many credit cards?
All of which I try to answer with a certain level of truth. But the other day, someone asked me a question that totally stumped me. It caught me completely off guard and without my defenses, I was left vulnerable to the truth that can just spill out.
The question: "Mate, do you have a thousand dollars" spoken in a drunken slur from an aboriginal man camping on the back steps of Town Hall station with other fellow drunks/addicts/petrol sniffers/welfare cheats/scary people/hobos'.
The answer: "Yes I do"
on the way to the photo labsIn my futile attempts to escape the boredom that is slowly enveloping me, I tried to re-live my European Affair. Of course, for me to live it, I'll have to buy another plane ticket to Europe and book some accomodation or pick up some hairy french chick or go shopping at designer boutiques that happen to all look the same anywhere in the world.
But being the now tightarse that I am, I simply look at my photos and have finally managed to upload them via my new best friend who shall rename nameless *p.s. tyarrhea loves ya*
Take a look at my
european affair.
